


TUTUM ME TANGERE

by Anne_Fairchild



Category: Da Vinci's Demons
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Implied Hoped-For Relationship, Implied Possible Asexuality, M/M, Serious Comfort, Slightly Emo Riario, awwwwww
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 16:08:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14918567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anne_Fairchild/pseuds/Anne_Fairchild
Summary: After Riario’s time with the Enemies of Man and his spree as the Monster of Italy, Leonardo finds him and spirits him away for serious TLC. Riario’s in need but wonders what the catch is and whether he can handle it.





	TUTUM ME TANGERE

From a young age, Girolamo Riario learned to dislike being touched. He had rarely been touched with genuine affection or kindness. Touch only meant he would be forced to do something he wouldn’t like, whether that meant lessons or diddling off one of the brothers at the monastery, or other more painful duties as he grew older.

At first, he was confused. He was after all touched with kindness by a couple of the monks when he was a small boy, and one of them, Brother Bonifacio, had done his best to keep him away from the brothers who would use him. His cuts and scrapes were tended, his tears of loneliness comforted, and nothing more was wanted of him. But when he grew a little taller and a great deal more attractive, and again when he was placed in the charge of those who were to train him to serve the Holy Father, touch was used as a weapon or a punishment. No kindness or caring was ever involved. There was always an ulterior motive for touch.

He never sought the company of women, with whom he had little experience and for whom he had little desire. He had even less desire for men after having served as a tool for those older or more powerful than he most of his life. He bedded very infrequently and only when it gave him power or knowledge over someone. Closeness, including touching, or sex, was a trap to Riario. He had trained himself out of wanting it and would have denied needing it. He, Girolamo Riario, Count Imola, needed nothing and no one.

Then he met Leonardo Da Vinci - a man who was very free with his physicality. He kissed, he fucked, and he touched everyone, men or women, superior or inferior, it mattered not to him. In the early months of their acquaintance, Riario would become incensed at Da Vinci’s frequent touches and apparent lack of respect. However, since Da Vinci never reacted as Riario expected, and continued to touch him so frequently, he had given up his indignation so as not to appear to be overreacting. He would give Da Vinci no reason to mock him.

It was in the New World and during their voyage back to Italy that Riario began to realize he reacted differently to Da Vinci than to others. It had begun with Zita’s death. Da Vinci knew it had affected him greatly, and would not pretend otherwise. Zita had cracked open the door he had slammed shut years ago. He had cared about her even if he had willed himself not to. With her death he felt loss, and Da Vinci acknowledged that. He’d refused to behave as if Zita’s death was of no consequence.

Riario had wanted to wish that away. He didn’t want it to be something he had to consider in his life. But it kept confronting him - Da Vinci wouldn’t leave him behind in the Vault of Heaven. He had set his broken leg and made sure he made it back aboard Vespucci’s ship. Da Vinci would not abandon him as he told himself he would have abandoned the artista. And Riario refused to acknowledge that Zita had died so they could get the antidote to the poison and save Da Vinci’s life. Sometimes in his mind he damned them both.

Now, he was at his lowest ebb. His life had spiraled so out of control that he had tried to end it. He no longer knew who or what he was or wanted to be any longer. He felt only anger, pain and despair when Da Vinci found him and somehow got him back to his ramshackle studio.

The anger left him first, after Da Vinci purged his mind and body of the demon the Enemies of Man had put there. Da Vinci brought him back to himself, but that was only part of the equation. He was now truly helpless. His body, after suffering years of every sort of abuse, had quit on him. He could not stand, or walk, or even talk at first, and he was so weary that sometimes opening his eyes and speaking a few words taxed him to exhaustion. Everything hurt, and the pain did not want to be tamed.

Although he assured Riaro that he needn’t speak, Da Vinci made sure he talked as he cared for him, matter-of-factly, calmly and gently. Acknowledging his pain and refusing to let him bury it, as he’d acknowledged that Riario had emotions.

In the beginning, he could not even get out of bed to relieve himself, and once or twice he was sick and vomited wretchedly in the bed - Da Vinci’s bed. Leonardo took care of it all. His head often swam with dizziness and his heart raced as if it might burst from his chest, but Da Vinci was there to reassure him, also providing a cloth to clean him and a warm hand to comfort him.

“Try not to let it frighten you, that will make it worse,” Da Vinci told him. “The poison is still in your body and it’ll affect you for awhile. It’s nasty stuff, but it was the only way. I’m sorry.”

There were times he knew Da Vinci drugged him in order to treat him more easily, when his mind still fought. He once woke to find his eyes bandaged, and when in his panic he ripped the bandages off, Leonardo held him down gently and told him to let his eyes rest, that _he_ would be his eyes. While Riario’s heart thudded, Da Vinci put drops in his eyes that did not hurt but instead relieved, and applied a salve to his eyelids and re-bandaged his eyes. When he had finished, he took Riario’s hand in his and urged him to sleep again. Between the soft voice and the drug in his system, he did sleep again. The _artista_ was somehow able to keep his demons at bay - the physical ones at least.

Another time he woke to find a salve had been applied to his red, angry scarred wrists and they were bandaged as well. He had not thought about them causing him pain until the pain was blunted. It was strange how the lack of constant pain seemed to intensify what pain he still felt.

When he was able to sit up, and to help Da Vinci by being able to move himself, Leonardo washed him as tenderly as a babe. His heart began to speed again, wondering what the man wanted, what he expected. Riario couldn’t remember when he’d wanted so much for there _not_ to be some hidden agenda or desire. Da Vinci even hummed and sang a little, softly, as he cleansed Riario’s hair and wiped down his limbs, even his genitals. If the song was not a lullaby, it had that effect on him, for he found himself drifting off to sleep as Da Vinci pulled the bedclothes up around him.

Riario’s real fear started when he could not sleep and Da Vinci didn’t want to drug him as frequently as before. Sometimes, it was in the darkest hours of the night when nothing stirred in the streets outside. But sometimes it happened in the light of day and that was most frightening of all.

Oiling his hands with something that smelled sweetly herbal, the _artista_ worked gently on all the muscles of his body, from his head to his feet. Fingers applied a light pressure to his face and head, ruffling his hair and then smoothing it, massaging his scalp. Thumbs pressed and dug at the muscles at the base of his skull, forcing their habitual tightness to give way. Clever fingers moved down his arms from shoulder to fingertips, and gently around the muscles of his old leg break. There was never an attempt to turn things in another direction, which he could so easily have done and which at first Riario expected, puzzling at the reason it was not forthcoming while being grateful that it wasn’t.

Long, strong fingers and warm hands stroked the muscles of his shoulders and his back, thumbs knowing just where he hurt the most and yet not hurting him in the diminishing of that pain. He was always asleep by the end, if not well before.

Riario’s fear came from knowing that he was growing dependent on Da Vinci - dependent on his kindness, and yes, his touch. There had to be some purpose to it, some payment that would eventually have to be made. Riario shrank from the thought of learning how and when his debt was to be repaid, and what he would do without the touch that now obsessed him.

Although he was at last growing stronger, Riario began to feign a certain weakness and disability, lest Da Vinci withdraw his kindnesses once his patient was clearly on the mend. Perhaps it was just a concession to his inability to fend for himself and would cease if the _artista_ thought him whole again. Riario despised himself, but was not yet ready to walk away. In truth, he’d begun to be afraid he would never be ready.

The day came when they searched every inch of the city for him, with intent of tearing him limb from limb. They could hear the noise of the soldiers and accompanying mob grow closer. It was then that Da Vinci surprised him.

He moved to the far end of the upstairs sleeping area and pried open a door concealed in the floor. He motioned silently to Riario, who saw that it was a space created to be a hiding place for something or someone; once the door was closed it could be walked upon and no one would be the wiser. If another man had designed it, the space would have been detectable. Designed by Da Vinci, it would not be unless they were very unlucky. It was difficult to say whether it had been intended to hide two or only one, but Da Vinci’s intent was clear.

“You first,” he whispered.

“Are you certain? If they find us, you will suffer my fate,” Riario reminded him.

“Get in, dammit,” Da Vinci growled impatiently as if he hadn’t heard the warning. Riario shook his head, but climbed awkwardly into the space, trying to fold himself as much as he could. Da Vinci grabbed hold of an old, dusty rug and tried to work it so that it would at least partly cover the faint outlines of the door. Then he arranged his limbs around Riario’s and pulled the door shut.

There wasn’t an abundance of air to breathe, but there was enough if they stayed still. Since the space was so cramped, they could hardly do otherwise. As the crowd noises grew louder and closer, Riario began to be aware that being in the dark, cramped space with no room to move and a heavy weight on top of him was not a good thing. It was, in fact, a bad thing - but he had to remain quiet regardless. It wasn’t going to be easy.

It startled both men when the studio burst open with a bang and there were suddenly footsteps everywhere. Although it sounded as if they were simply breaking things judging by the crashing glass and sounds of chaos below them, they also seemed to be maddeningly taking their time. As the minutes ticked on, Riario’s discomfort grew. He supposed his breathing grew louder, as one hand of Da Vinci’s snaked below him and clamped over his mouth - not hard enough to suffocate him, but with clearly serious intent. At the same time, Da Vinci’s other hand, and his head, came to rest in the middle of Riario’s back. He swallowed hard as boots climbed the stairs. He closed his eyes, concentrating on Leonardo’s attempt at reassurance.

It truly seemed to Riario to take forever before the boots receded back down the stairs, there were a few more crashes, and then silence. Above him, Da Vinci didn’t move for an impossibly long time. But just when Riario had decided he couldn’t breathe any more, the _artista_ shifted around to raise the door, unfolding himself carefully. He motioned to Riario to keep quiet and stay put while he went downstairs.

Several minutes later he returned. “Gone,” he announced, reaching down a hand to help Riario out.

The room looked as if a windstorm had blown through it. Riario shuddered at the thought of what might have been destroyed downstairs. He didn’t want to know. He suddenly had a wild, ridiculous desire to never leave the loft again, and for Da Vinci never to leave it either.

With an arm, Da Vinci swept newly stirred-up dust and whatever else didn’t belong there from the bed onto the floor and helped Riario to it, straightening his cramped limbs.

“Are you all right?”

“That was a very small space, _artista_ ,” Riario responded quietly.

“You did very well. And they’re gone; I doubt they’ll be back. You’re safe now.” Da Vinci lay down on the bed next to him, and without either of them thinking about it for a moment, put his arm around Riario, bringing his head down to Leonardo’s shoulder. Riario let his head rest heavily on that shoulder.

“I am…not so injured still as you believe,” he admitted, feeling a strange need to speak truth since Da Vinci had undoubtedly just saved his life. It was too easy to lie; he ought to do something difficult now. Da Vinci laughed softly.

“I know that,” he returned. “I’ve known it for days.” His fingers carded slowly through Riario’s hair.

“But if you know - what reason can you have for…what you do? What is it you want of me, _artista_? What will you ask of me? When?” Riario asked softly.

“What reason can you have for allowing it to continue?” Da Vinci countered mildly.

“I cannot put a name to it,” Riario returned evasively.

“I wanted to keep you safe and give you comfort. I wanted to keep you alive and in one piece.”

“You’ve done all of those things exceedingly well _artista_ , but that doesn’t tell me why.”

“Because,” Da Vinci continued, “you are my friend. It’s what you do for a friend. With no expectations at all,” he added.

“I have never had a normal life,” Riario offered. “I cannot react or respond as other men would,” he warned.

“I can’t begin to imagine your life and all you’ve suffered,” Leonardo told him. “Just once, I wanted you not to suffer. To have a friend, to be able to lean on someone if you needed to.”

“You have stripped away my defenses, _artista_. You’ve given me back my humanity, but now I don’t know if I can survive in this new world you’ve given me. I don’t know,” he repeated, his voice small.

“We’d be together,” Leonardo reminded him.

“Even - even if I can never…”

“Even if.”

Riario was silent for a moment. Then he gave a great sigh of surrender and burrowed against Leonardo.

“Yes, _artista. **Tutum me tangere**._ ”

 

 

**Latin for **Hold me safe****

**Author's Note:**

> Slight variation to some final episodes canon. I wanted to do a veritable h/c wallow, so I did. Wanted to touch on the possibility of whether either or both Leo or Riario would be okay with a non-sexual/celibate relationship. Not gonna happen in my eyes, but I wanted it a consideration in this and I can see why it might be.


End file.
